


wear me down with the softest words

by second_hand_heaven



Category: DCU
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Come Sharing, Cunnilingus, Did I Mention Praise Kink?, Dirty Talk, Dry Orgasm, Exhibitionism, F/M, Finger Sucking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Poor Bruce needs a rest, Praise Kink, Shameless Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 07:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17638223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_hand_heaven/pseuds/second_hand_heaven
Summary: So Bruce likes praise, it's not a big deal. His work in the shadows is thankless at best, so what's wrong with relishing some hard earned praise? Everyone likes praise, it feels good. Except when it feels too good. So Bruce likes praise a lot, not more than justice, not more than his city, his family, his friends; just a lot.So yeah, maybe Bruce has a praise kink, so what?





	wear me down with the softest words

**Author's Note:**

> Bruce has a praise kink and you can't convince me otherwise. Shout out to the SuperWonderBat discord for all their support, encouragement, and overall horny-ness. Love you guys. Please enjoy the filth.

 

Praise. It's a good thing. People  _ like  _ praise, there's nothing weird about it. It makes people feel good, makes them feel needed, feel wanted. So Bruce likes praise, it's not a big deal. Everyone likes praise, it feels good. 

Sometimes for Bruce, it feels too good. 

So maybe Bruce likes praise a lot, not more than justice, not more than his city, his family, his friends; just a lot. Praise is a wonderful thing, except of course, when it leaves Bruce half-hard in his Batsuit during a League meeting at the Watchtower. 

The debrief had dragged on almost as long as the battle itself had, and Bruce really just wants to head back to Gotham and get some rest before he goes on patrol. But of course, things are never so simple. 

It's Clark's fault, really. And Diana's. Those two will be the death of him, he knows it. And look, half-hard is a slight exaggeration. A stirring, certainly, but he's a professional. 

It's still their fault. 

After Bruce ends the meeting, the remaining Leaguers break into small conversations. Clark turns to him, that ridiculously cheery smile stretching across his unblemished features. “Great work today, B,” Clark says, clapping him on the shoulder. The warmth of Clark’s hand melts through the armour of the Batsuit. “I wouldn’t have been able to stop that building from collapsing without you.” He could have, surely, he's  _ Superman _ for God's sake. Bruce told him the points to support, how to do it, but Clark was the one to actually  _ do _ it. So no, it wasn't just Bruce, but the sentiment is still the same. It feels good, being needed, being praised, by Clark. More than most. 

Diana joins them, lasso glowing at her hip. Her and Clark weren't exactly a secret since they’d finally got together after a League mission a few months ago, but Bruce doesn’t miss the way their hands tangle together as Diana reaches Clark’s side. Intimacy, perhaps, or a show of unity. Either way, Bruce loathes the way it makes his stomach flip. 

“There’s something we’ve been meaning to ask you,” Clark says, “something we’ve both been thinking for a while. And if you say no that’s okay. It won’t change anything between us, if you don’t want it. Or if you do want it.”

“What. Is it.” Bruce spits out, a demand more than a question. 

Diana tries her hand at explaining, taking pity on her floundering boyfriend and his red-stained cheeks. Bruce tries to search her face for answers but her gaze is unsettling, too sincere to maintain. “You’ve always been important to us, Bruce, and Clark and I being together hasn’t changed that.” 

A grunt from Bruce encourages her on. “You know how much you mean to us, or at least I hope you understand.” A self-deprecating smile works its way across her lips. “But perhaps that’s the problem, that you don’t know. We care about you, Bruce, more than we should.”

Bruce nods, not trusting himself to speak. What are they saying, what are they asking of him? The way they look at him, like he's something good, something cherished, makes him feel indestructible, assured that nothing could go wrong. And then he feels something else: arousal, plain and clear. Dammit, dammit all to hell. It’s too much. It’s always too much when it comes to the two people before him. 

“I uh,” Bruce tries to find something, anything to say, but his mind comes up uselessly blank. In his daze, uselessly, he reaches out for Clark and Diana's joined hands. It takes him much too long to realise, to snatch his hand back, clenching and unclenching into a fist. Eventually he manages to control himself, excuse himself, ignoring the closed off faces of Diana and Clark and heading straight for his room. 

He hardly makes use of his quarters here in the Watchtower, prefering to head back to Gotham after missions and monitor duty, but today he's thankful for having his own private space. It's rather Spartan, a simple double bed, a dresser, and a doorway leading to a rather small but functional en suite. Practical, clean, artificial. He peels off the Batsuit and his underclothes, leaving himself in only a black jockstrap. 

Bruce lays back on the bed and weighs up his options. A cold shower, then returning to duty should be his course of action, but something keeps him from moving. Want, curling low in his stomach, weighs him down into the mattress. He wants something else, maybe two something elses weighing him down, too, but he’ll take what he can get, which right now his his own hand. 

He slips off the jock, his half hard cock springing free. Scrubbing a hand across his face, Bruce berates himself for his lack of control, but it's too late. His fingers slide down his stomach, through the trimmed trail of hair leading to the base of his cock. It’s far too late. 

The usual images won't do, not today. Today he wants Diana and Clark, their praise and their touch, wants it so much it hurts. What would it sound like? Would they be mild, soft, or forceful with their touch? Is their praise freely given, or a feat to earn? His cock twitches in his grasp at that train of thought. How would they make him earn their praise? He strokes himself slowly, coming up with hypothetical situations. He’d eat Diana out, that’s a given. Slow and torturous, until she takes control from him, her pace demanding her own pleasure and nothing more, and Bruce would be more than willing to provide. 

Bruce takes two fingers in his mouth, circling the pad of each with his tongue, one then the other. He tongues at the seam between the two digits in long, sweeping strokes, before returning his attention to the tips. The hand on his cock slows, grip loosening, until it provides the slightest friction, not nearly enough. Diana wouldn’t want him to come, not yet, and he wouldn’t want to disappoint. It’s only just beginning, this fantasy of his, and he doesn’t want it to be over quite so soon. No, certainly not before fantasy-Clark joined in. 

Would Clark fuck him? God, he hopes so. He knows what Clark is packing and he wants to feel that cock for days. His asshole clenches at the thought, and Bruce curses himself for not stocking his room with lube, and although his utility belt is still attached to his suit, puddled on the floor, it’s too far away for him to reach the capsule with  _ those _ supplies in it. So instead he teases himself with those spit-slick fingers, circling his hole but never breaching, and imagines it’s Clark toying with him, cheeky and ever-patient, as Bruce’s control wavers. Clark would tell him then, lowly against Bruce’s skin, how good Bruce is doing, how well he’s holding up under this torment. 

Bruce wants them everywhere, all over, inside, across every inch of skin. He wants to serve them, ass and mouth, and make them feel so good. And he’ll know how good he’s been, how good he is for them, because they’ll tell him, they will, they  _ have  _ to. 

Will they make him beg? Or maybe they will let him beg of his own volition. Beg for release, for their touch. Their praise. 

Bruce’s toes curl against the sheets, pleasure flowing through his veins, all thick and warm. He's so close, just a little more-

The door opens with a choked-off hiss. Bruce fumbles, pulling the covers up over his hips before the intruders can fully enter. There are only two people granted access to this room beside himself, he doesn't need to look to up to see Diana and Clark standing just inside the doorway as the door shuts. “What?” Bruce growls, trying to will away the flush that’s crept up his neck. 

“Bruce, we, uhh,” Clark's nostrils flare, though it wouldn't take someone with superhuman senses to figure out just what Bruce was in the midst of. Clark asks, “B, are you…” Bruce isn't sure where Clark’s question is going; is he okay, is he jerking off beneath the covers, is he free for lunch tomorrow?

Whatever it is, Bruce has no intention of answering. “Get out,” he grunts, scowling at his intruders. “Now.”

Diana moves closer, unfazed by his words. She'd leave if he asked again, they both would, and the words hang on his tongue, ready to be repeated, when she asks, “Is that what you want, Bruce?” 

Want. What does he want? He wants them to leave, he wants them to stay, he wants to be anywhere other than here, having this fucking conversation. He wants them: the forbidden fruit, always out of reach, except that right now they’re here, close enough that if he asks, all rough and ragged, he might just get them. 

He wants their praise, honey-sweet and dripping from their lips. He wants to be sandwiched between those two superhuman beings, writhing with pleasure, teetering on a knife’s edge. And the way that Diana and Clark are looking at him, not with disgust, not with disdain, but with some sort of excitement, maybe he could have that. 

“Can we stay?” she tries again, glancing between Clark and Bruce. “We want to, but only if you want us to.”

Bruce scoffs. “You want to watch?” 

Diana doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Perhaps more than watch.” Diana doesn’t shy away from her desires, Bruce knows this more than most, but could she really desire this? Him? Could Clark? But Diana would never lie, never lie to him, so Bruce lets her desire, her promise for more, wash over him like a torrent of summer rain. 

“Whatever you want, Bruce.” Clark’s eyes are alight, echoing Diana's hopefulness. There’s something in Clark’s tone, soft and low and full of sincerity that makes Bruce’s cock twitch beneath the sheets. Bloody Boy Scout. 

But Bruce can have this, he can have this moment with the two of them, if only he asks. Bruce has never been one to ask for what he wants, to allow himself to want at all, but here, with just the three of them, he can have this. If only he can ask. 

A sharp breath later, and Bruce knows what he wants. “Keep talking,” he decides, “and make it good.”

“What's good for you, Bruce?” Clark says as he edges closer to the bed. “What would make it good for you? Maybe if I tell you how good you are? How much Diana and I want you?” 

Bruce gasps at the words. Fuck, how can Clark know? Embarrassment threatens to take hold, but no, this is  _ Clark _ , for God’s sake, he wouldn’t do that to him. So Bruce grunts out something he hopes sounds approving, and waits. 

“Is that good for you, Bruce?” Clark continues, “because I want this to be so good for you.” His hand reaches out, steady and sure, and Bruce can't stifle the sharp intake of breath at the thought of Clark touching him. He waits, but the touch never comes. Instead, Clark takes hold of the edge of the blankets, waiting. Waiting for permission, Bruce realises. He meets Clark’s eyes and nods. 

Clark tugs the covers down past Bruce's hips, and Bruce doesn't miss the sharp intake of breath from Clark. Bruce wants bite out a remark ‘ _ like what you see?’ _ but Clark's knuckles brush the top of Bruce's thigh and it takes all of Bruce's strength not to buck upwards into Clark's touch. 

“ _ Bruce _ ,” Diana says, almost reverently, “was this why you left in such a hurry? Because we-”

“Yes,” Bruce hisses, and he doesn't care how desperate it sounds. Not if it gets him exactly what he wants. 

“Can we?” 

Bruce falters for a moment. Can they what? There's so much that he'd be willing to give them, to allow them to do, but not now. They need to talk, need to set rules and boundaries and enough contingencies to counteract the eventual moment when this all blows up in their faces. But he wants to, wants to give them anything and everything they ask for right this second, contingencies be damned.

“Can we come closer?” she clarifies, head tilted slightly to the left, and then, “can we touch you?” 

Bruce nods. Diana settles on the bed, laying beside Bruce with her head propped up with one arm. Clark perches by the pillows, where the heat from his thigh radiates against Bruce’s cheek. 

“Come on, B, don’t be shy. It’s just us.”

It's just them, the two Leaguers Bruce trusts above all, the two people he wants here (and maybe even wants to join in). How could he shy away from them? So Bruce grasps himself, but the relief of his own touch only short-lived as his need mounts higher and higher. 

“Nice and slow,” Diana directs him, humming approvingly when he does. “Yes, just like that.” 

Languid thrusts into a loose fist garners approval from his audience, approval that Bruce can't get enough of. It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but it’s what Diana wants, so he’ll do as he’s told, try to both seek and hold back his pleasure.

“You look so good like this, B, I can’t-” 

Bruce glances up, chances a look at Clark’s face, and finds the Kryptonian biting his bottom lip, cheeks flushed, eyes never leaving Bruce’s form. “Yeah?” Bruce wants more, needs more. Always needs more.

“So beautiful, do you have any idea how beautiful you are like this? Spread out in front of us, just for us.”

Bruce melts a little more, breath hitching.  _ Beautiful. _ He arches his back, head thrown against the pillows, trying to make the show worthwhile for his captive audience.  _ His _ audience, because this is just for them. 

“Just look at you,” Diana purrs, “do you know how many times we thought about this, how we hoped it would go when we asked you to join our bed? Nothing we imagined compares to this, to you.” Diana's fingers trace along his side in delicate, spidery patterns. They follow the curves of muscle, bone, and scar tissue, twirling to a rhythm of their own. There’s a reverence to her touch, care surging through each and every point of contact, each scar, each burn, each freckle and dip is adored and honoured by her gracious hand.. This must be what worship feels like, Bruce thinks, and he can’t help the tears that burn at his lashes. 

“So good, B,” Clark says as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind Bruce's ear. And Bruce feels good,  _ so good,  _ because Clark wouldn't lie to him. Clark  _ can't _ lie to him. The hand stays at Bruce's ear, his thumb brushing across Bruce's cheekbone, and Bruce can't help but lean into the touch. Clark holds him like he’s something precious, and Bruce can barely stand it.

“Please,” Bruce asks, unsure exactly what it is he is asking for. He nuzzles against Clark's hand and feels Clark’s fingers twitch against his cheek. 

“You’re doing so well,” Diana says, her voice ever so soft against his ear, “just a little longer.”

She says it like it’s easy, but it’s so hard,  _ he’s so hard, _ and maybe a little delirious with pleasure right now, losing control with every stroke of his hand. Bruce is so close, his abdominal muscles clenching with the strain of holding himself back. But Bruce has to be good, has to please his audience,  so he gasps and groans beneath his own hands and tries to stave off his release. 

“Come on, Bruce. Let go,” Clark says. “You've been so good for us, let go.”

_ Let go. _ He’s been given permission, so he does. Bruce arches off the bed, pumping himself through the onslaught of pleasure as his release coats his fingers, dripping onto his stomach in a warm and sticky puddle. 

Bruce pants against Clark's palm, leaving wet, open-mouth kisses against the impossibly soft skin. What would those hands feel like wrapped around his dick, he wonders, and a dazed part of his mind suggests he asks. Purely for experimentation purposes, of course. 

“So good, my love,” Diana says, pressing a kiss to Bruce's sweaty forehead, “so good for us.”

_ Good. Love. _ Bruce basks in the afterglow of their praise, the rise and fall of his chest eventually returning to normal. As Bruce comes back to himself, realisation hits. He just jerked off in front of Wonder Woman and Superman. That was not how he thought he’d spend his day. Hmm. He should say something, but what? What could he possibly say to make this any less surreal, any less weird? Because  _ this _ was phenomenal, something Bruce wants again and again, but is it-

“Rao, that was hot,” Clark says, breaking the silence and Bruce’s unhelpfully pessimistic train of thought. There's a decently sized bulge in the front of Superman's tights that confirms his words. Bruce wants to bury his face in the V of Clark’s hips, mouth against that bulge through Clark’s uniform until the Kryptonian obliges and starts to strip, but that requires moving and Bruce isn’t quite sure he’s up for that quite yet. 

“Want me to take care of that?” Bruce asks, his free hand reaching out for the front of the red trunks. At least his arm is capable of moving. The rest of him, not so much. 

Clark shrinks back, and Bruce thinks maybe they’ve gone to far, that maybe he’s gone to far. 

But Diana smiles, understanding. “Maybe somewhere more private?” she asks Clark. “Or perhaps another time?”

“No,” Clark says, shaking his head, and for a second Bruce wants the bed to swallow him whole, wants to disappear and never remember this fucking fantastic occurrence ever again. But Clark, beautiful, wonderful, ridiculously hot Clark, clarifies. “Here. Here, now. Please.” There’s a desperate edge to Clark’s words that has Bruce’s dick making a valiant attempt at hardening yet again. 

Clark’s hands clench into fists, knuckles pale. His nails must be close to piercing his own flesh, Bruce thinks. He wants those nails digging into his shoulders while Clark fucks him. 

Clark practically groans as he finally speaks. “I can smell how wet you are,” he tells Diana, “how much you enjoyed that. And I am  _ so _ close to losing it right now.”

Bruce’s mouth waters at the thought.  _ He  _ was the one to arouse them, to bring them to this state.  _ He did this _ .  _ They want him.  _

“You like that, Bruce? Like knowing how hot you make me? Make us? Or maybe we should show you, just to make sure.” Diana steps away from the bed, and begins to unfasten her armour. “I know you’ll like what you see,” she winks. 

He doesn’t get to see much then, as Clark's hand cups Bruce's jaw, drawing him in for a kiss. It’s soft, surprisingly chaste considering Clark’s earlier words, but it’s heartfelt in a way that has Bruce’s head spinning. Clark’s lips taste like the sweetest of praise, and Bruce wants to drink in the kiss endlessly. And then Clark deepens the kiss, and if Bruce thought it was intense before… whoa. Bruce tries to pull back, senses overflowing, but Clark chases him, leaning further down onto the bed, onto Bruce, caging him against the mattress. If this is what it’s like kissing Clark, Bruce thinks somewhere in the back of his mind, what would it be like when Clark  _ fucks _ him?

Metal and leather fall to the floor, and when Bruce breaks away from the kiss, he finds Diana standing by the edge of the bed wearing only a smile. Bruce tries not to stare, but he must be failing, badly, because Clark chuckles and kisses the corner of Bruce’s mouth. “I feel the same way.”

Clark steps back and trades places with Diana, who leans in and captures Bruce’s lips with her own. She licks into Bruce's mouth, as commanding in the kiss as she is on the battlefield. She’s more forceful than Clark, more assured, but no less passionate. 

Her fingernails rake across Bruce’s chest, sending shivers through his core. One of her nails scrapes across his nipple and the sensation has him almost screaming into Diana’s mouth, with pleasure or pain or both, he doesn’t know. Whatever it is, it’s good enough than Bruce wants her to do it again and again. And, as he realises, two can play at that game. With one hand, Bruce reaches up to palm Diana’s right breast, swallowing down her gasps as she arches against his touch. He pinches her nipple, hard, hard enough for a growl to rumble low in Diana’s throat, hard enough for her to sink her teeth into Bruce’s bottom lip until she’s a hair’s breadth away from breaking the skin. 

Diana breaks the kiss and returns to her full height as Clark approaches, the Kryptonian having shed his suit while Bruce was otherwise occupied. His beautiful, unblemished skin, is just begging to be kissed, and that straining cock between Clark’s thighs is no exception. 

Clark nuzzles against the back of Diana's neck, a hand circling her body and laying almost possessively across her hip. Bruce braces himself for an awkward assertion of Clark's dominance, of Clark and Diana's relationship, but it never comes. 

“Princess,” Clark murmurs against Diana's skin, “how about you sit on his face? His heartbeat went crazy when I said how wet you were. How wet he made you.”

Bruce doesn’t deny it. He can’t, not when he sees the way Diana shivers at Clark's words. That pride curling in his gut feels a lot like arousal, thick and heavy and oh so good. He wants to taste her, wants to bring her to the edge again and again, hear her cry out in pleasure, a song of praise for Bruce and his tongue. 

Diana considers for only a moment before nodding, bracing a hand beside Bruce's head as she climbs onto the bed, straddling Bruce's midsection. Her wetness slides against his chest, leaving what Bruce knows will be a glistening trail between his abs. 

“Bruce?” she asks, a fingertips glancing across his jawline. It's a question, he realises after a moment, brain still a little fuzzy from his earlier orgasm. 

“Let me be good for you,” he rasps, “let me taste you.”

Bruce slips his hands beneath Diana's thighs, helping to position her above his face. Just the smell of her has him biting back a moan, and as she lowers herself onto Bruce’s awaiting mouth, there’s no holding back from either of them. 

“ _ Yes _ , Bruce,” Diana says, “just like that.” She rides his face, hard and fast, and Bruce tries his best to keep up. 

The bed shifts beneath him as Clark settles on the sheets between Bruce's thighs. “Fuck, Bruce,” Clark groans, “you have no idea how good you look like this.” 

Clark is right: he doesn’t. He can’t see a thing besides the blur of Diana’s golden thighs as she grinds against his face. Not that he can complain. 

The warm weight of a cock, thick and heavy and wanting, falls against Bruce’s thigh. Fuck, Bruce wants that in his mouth, his ass, anywhere Clark is willing to give it to him. It slides against Bruce's skin with a languid stroke of Clark's hips.  “I want to fuck you, but right now all I can take is this.” Clark ruts against Bruce's hip, cock gliding through the sharp v between Bruce's thigh and pelvis. 

Diana's pace quickens as she chases down her orgasm. Bruce's tongue flicks against her clit, and she rewards him with a hand threaded through his hair, pulling tight enough to make Bruce buck and groan against her.

He wants Clark to fuck him, wants the burn of that thick cock stretching him out, filling him up, leaving him a babbling mess, but for now, he takes all that he can get. Maybe next time he'll get his fill of Kryptonian cock. If he's good, that is. And Bruce can be so good. 

Bruce raises his leg, foot braced against the mattress, increasing the pressure around Clark's cock. He grins against Diana's lips at the gasps he elicits from Clark, a little proud of himself for making the Kryptonian squirm. 

A thick hand wraps around Bruce's cock, and with a few fast pace strokes he's brought yet again to full hardness, twitching in Clark's unrelenting grasp. It's so different to his own touch- soft instead of coarse and calloused- somehow so familiar and foreign at the same time, and the sensation is maddening.  

Bruce’s hips rock against Clark's as he chases his second orgasm, trying to bring Clark off in the process while his hands are indisposed, keeping Diana in place above him.  

With each stroke, each talented flick of Clark’s wrist, Bruce’s pleasure mounts, tightening in his gut until he can’t hold back any longer. Bruce gasps against Diana’s folds as his orgasm rushes through him, less forceful than the first but no less rewarding. 

“That’s it, Bruce, keep going. She’s nearly there,” Clark pants as his release spills across Bruce's stomach, mixing with Bruce's own come. He must look like such a slut, Bruce thinks, covered in come from both himself and Clark, while Diana’s slick spreads across his cheeks and jaw. 

A few more strokes of his tongue have Diana spasming on his face, a renewed onslaught of slick pouring across his face. She tastes like victory, and Bruce can’t help but tease with the occasional lick to her overstimulated clit, loving the way her legs shake above. 

Eventually Diana slides off Bruce's face and onto the bed, her legs tangling between the pillows. Bruce gulps down a lungful of air, half disappointed and half relieved that he can breathe a little easier. 

Though he doesn’t get much of a reprieve. Clark leans down and kisses him, licking into Bruce's mouth without hesitation. Bruce lets himself be lead through the kiss, allows Clark drink in his fill. “You taste so good,” Clark says as they pull apart, allowing Bruce to catch his breath. Clark licks across Bruce’s cheeks, his chin, capturing every last trace of Diana’s slick from Bruce’s face. Clark's kittenish licks tickle Bruce's skin and Bruce has to bite his lip to stifle a laugh. 

“Enjoy that?”

Bruce hums his assent as Clark’s lips move lower, tracing the tendons of Bruce’s neck with his lips. 

“So good, B,” Clark murmurs into Bruce’s throat, “so good for us.”

Bruce groans at the familiar sensation building in his gut. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“No more,” Bruce grumbles, “‘m an old man. Can’t keep up.” Though his oversensitive cock does try, twitching briefly against Bruce’s thigh, the same thigh Diana is currently using as a pillow. These two are going to be the death of him. 

He feels Clark’s smile broaden against his skin. “Sorry,” the Kryptonian says without a trace of remorse, but Bruce is too blissed out to call Clark out on it. 

Diana trails open-mouth kisses across the tender flesh of Bruce’s inner thigh, each puff of breath sending shivers through Bruce’s entire form. 

“Diana,” Bruce warns lowly, tugging at her wild mane of inky hair, “that’s enough.”

She turns in his grasp to face him. “Are you sure? I think you can come once more for us, Bruce. I know you can. Can you that for us? Please?”

Clark nips at Bruce’s throat. “Third time’s the charm?”

How could he deny them? He’s going to regret it, but he relents. “Just, ah, just give me a minute.” 

Diana drops a wet kiss the top of Bruce’s thigh, swirling her tongue over a ridge of tender scar tissue. “Good boy.”

“Hnn.”

Clark’s assault on Bruce’s neck, coupled with Diana’s straying hands and lips, are almost too much to bear. It’s too much and not enough at the same time and Bruce was right, these two are going to kill him, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it, he doesn’t want this torture to end. 

She moves further up Bruce’s body to the mess of come spilt across Bruce's stomach. “Filthy,” Diana says, trailing two fingers through the still-warm puddle. “My boys are filthy.”

Bruce’s breath hitches, caught off-guard by Diana’s words, because who would think that the princess would talk like  _ that _ . But beyond that, the possessiveness of her words has Bruce preening. He is hers, just like Clark is, and he can’t deny the rush those words provide.

“Clark?” 

“Hmm?” With one last bite to Bruce’s throat, Clark sits up and turns to face Diana. 

“I know how much you want to taste him.” Diana holds out her messy fingers to Clark, who takes no time in wrapping his lips around those digits, cleaning away the mess of come with a moan that goes straight to Bruce’s cock. 

“Enjoying the mess you made of Bruce?” Diana smirks, “the mess you made of each other?” 

Clark nods, releasing Diana’s fingers with a lewdly wet slurp. 

“More?”

“Yes,” Clark moans, his neediness almost exceeding Bruce’s. Almost. “Rao, yes.”

Diana dips her fingers back into the mess, gathering up as much come as she can on those two fingers. “Come and get it.” She takes her fingers in her own mouth and shoots Clark a ‘come hither’ look. Clark doesn’t hesitate, leaning in and capturing Diana’s lips with a guttural moan. 

They kiss across Bruce’s body, an arch of pure, unadulterated beauty above him. Bruce can’t look away, wouldn’t want to even if he could. They know each other so well, these lovers, slotting together like they belong, and maybe they do. But they’re here now, in Bruce’s room, above him, the taste of him still lingering on their tongues, and Bruce feels -no, knows- he belongs too. 

Bruce whines, hips bucking in search of some kind of relief from the painful and pleasurable arousal engulfing his entire body. 

Clark and Diana break apart, wearing matching smirks as they look down at Bruce. 

“Feeling better, Bruce?” Diana says, eyeing Bruce’s burgeoning erection. He’s not sure whether he wants it to continue to fill out or wilt, but he trusts Clark, trusts Diana despite her wicked smirk, trusts them both to look after him. 

“Please?” Bruce’s face scrunches up with exertion, trying to hold back against the tidal wave of pain and pleasure and tears.  

“Shh, we’ve got you.” And that just makes Bruce whimper more. Clark hushes him with a finger to Bruce’s lips, a finger that Bruce immediately takes into his mouth without thought. 

Clark chuckles, but gives Bruce what he obviously wants, sliding another finger into Bruce’s mouth. His lips are swollen, red-raw and shiny, but Bruce does his best to take Clark’s fingers as best as he can, working them like he would a cock in his mouth.

“So needy,” Diana crows, her head tilted to the side, “so eager to please. Let us take care of you,  Bruce.” Eyes locked on Bruce’s, she lowers herself down until she can wrap her plush lips around the head of Bruce’s cock. 

Bruce can’t look, can’t do anything but whine around Clark’s fingers, eyes shut tight, as Diana’s talented tongue brings Bruce the harshest kind of pleasure. 

Not to be outdone, Clark moves to kneel between Bruce’s spread legs and guides Bruce to lift his legs, knees bent at a ninety degree angle, feet planted against the mattress. A spit-slick finger nudges Bruce’s hole, circling once, twice, before breaching and pushing inside. 

Bruce bears down onto Clark’s hand, trying to get more pressure, more pleasure. “C’mon Clark, fuck me?” 

Clark laughs a little darkly. “I’m not sure you could handle that right now, B. Don’t want you to pass out half-way through.” 

It’s a fair point, but Bruce exactly dissuaded. “I still, hnn, want you to fuck me,” Bruce groans, writhing on Clark’s finger. 

Bruce gets a kiss to his hipbone in return. “Next time, Bruce. I promise.”

He’s going to hold Clark to that. But for now, he lies back and lets Clark fuck him on his fingers, deftly teasing and twisting and finding every place that makes Bruce cry out for more. 

Bruce tries not to buck up into the sweet warmth of Diana’s mouth, but he can’t help it, he’s caught between two overwhelming ministrations of pleasure and Bruce can’t escape, even if he want to. 

He can’t escape, no, but he can give back. He reaches out to his side and finds Diana’s flank, rubbing a hand up and down her thigh, coaxing her on. She bucks against his hand, encouraging more contact. Bruce trails a finger up the inside of Diana’s thigh, to her slippery and still spit-slicked folds, before pausing, his fingers waiting there with the barest of touches. When she doesn’t pull away, Bruce slips one finger inside, then another in quick succession. She rewards him with a full-bodied shiver, hips undulating in time with Bruce’s short, sharp thrusts. 

“What a good boy,” Clark says, adding a second finger to Bruce’s ass, as though rewarding him for fingering Diana. Perhaps he is.

Bruce does his best to focus, to concentrate on the best angle and pace for Diana, but in the end, he lets her take her fill, fucking herself on Bruce’s fingers as she works her mouth on Bruce’s aching cock. She shudders around him, moaning on his cock as she comes once more, slick slipping down those gorgeous golden thighs. Bruce half expects her to slump to the bed, let his cock fall from her lips, but she continues, more forceful than before, and Bruce knows he won’t, can’t last much more of this. 

“One more time, B,” Clark coos, flicking his wrist just so. “I know you can do it.”

His balls tighten in Clark’s grasp and he’s so close he can practically taste it. Tears spill from the corner of his eyes in earnest now, the frustration too much to bear. Clark kisses them away, savours those tears on his lips as he calls Bruce his “good boy.”

It’s all the permission Bruce needs. His orgasm comes as more of a relief than release, dry and barely this side of painful, but Diana works him through it, mouthing at his cock until the last of the aftershocks fade. 

Clark’s fingers slide from his hole, and Bruce’s legs give way, falling flat onto the mattress with a soft thud. 

Something wet and warm spills against Bruce’s leg, and dazedly he recognises the flush high on Clark’s cheekbones as somehow connected to that. Something to remember, Bruce thinks, how his Boy Scout gets off so easily. Something to put to good use in the future. 

Not that Bruce can really talk about getting off easy, considering. He’s exhausted, wrung dry, but in truth he expected nothing less than that from sleeping with two super-powered beings at once. And right now, Bruce just wants to curl up on himself and sleep until his dick stops hurting and he can feel something other than  _ too much _ in the lower half of his body. 

Clark slips from the bed and returns in a flash with a washcloth and three bottles of water. Bruce tries to mutter his thanks, but his throat doesn’t allow him any more than a croak. The Kryptonian smiles down at him all the same, though, so his intent must have got across somehow. 

The washcloth is surprisingly warm as it drags across Bruce’s stomach, his thighs, his ass, mopping up the mess of all three of them before it’s tossed somewhere to the side. Bruce doesn’t care where, though it’s going to be a pain to clean up if landed anywhere on his suit. 

Bruce snatches a bottle and downs three quarters of it in one go; he could do without the post-marathon-sex headache, thanks. It takes Bruce a second to recognise that it’s usually him that takes care of the cleanup and aftercare, not his partner or partners, and he smiles despite himself. 

The bed dips as Clark settles beside him, and Bruce shuffles closer to Diana to make room, trying and failing to avoid the wet spot. 

“That was so-” Clark tries, but Bruce cuts his off with a sharpened glare.

“No more.” It’s a little too loud, too forceful for the small room, but goddammit, his dick can’t take any more of this. 

“No more now, or no more ever?” Diana’s frown speaks volumes as to what she wants the answer to be. 

Bruce’s cheeks flare. “No more now,” he clarifies, before adding, lower, “please.” His dick feels raw, even the fabric of the sheet Clark pulls over them feels much too rough against it. “Sleep. You can say and do anything you want after, but I need to sleep this one off.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m really not,” Clark grins, pressing a kiss to Bruce’s temple. “This is so much better than I ever imagined.” Bruce can’t disagree with that. He also can’t keep his eyes open. If sex with these two is going to be like this, he’s going to need an actual sleep schedule. 

Diana lets out a contented sigh and snuggles into Bruce’s shoulder. “Get some rest, Bruce.”

He tries to bite out a sarcastic ‘yes, ma’am,’ but a yawn is all he can muster.

Clark pulls him in closer, using his bicep to pillow Bruce’s head. “You’re so good for us,” Clark whispers into Bruce’s hair, quiet enough that Bruce almost missed it. Bruce’s lips quirk into a soft smile before sleep finally claims him. 

 

_ FIN _

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this. Comments and kudos are always welcome.
> 
> -Nova xx


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